


wanderer above the sea of fog

by Anonymous



Series: a feeling's not a thing you own [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Depression, Disordered Eating, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Sympathetic Remus Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:53:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Patton is gone.Roman cannot function.





	wanderer above the sea of fog

**Author's Note:**

> okay buddies!!! this is now a series bc there was a scene that i really wanted in the last fic but couldn't fit it in well, and also i've intrigued myself with my thought process. i have a big wip in another fandom that i'm. not working on. so i'm just gonna feel bad about that and take it out on pretend!venty!thomas
> 
> content warning: everyone being sympathetic, binge eating as a coping mechanism, the resulting discomfort, some nice suicidal thoughts combined with a bit of art analysis, and some. really gross intrusive thoughts. like. we're going for bodily functions, a teensy bit of gore... honestly, this is just the norm for me
> 
> and don't forget, these are fictionalised versions of fictional characters based off of a fictionalised version of an actual person. it's enough steps removed that i don't think it counts as rpf, which is. reassuring to me

The thing about being half of a whole of a part of a person, Roman decides, is that it’s incredibly difficult to…

Well…

Look, he hasn’t had the time to figure it out! Or, rather, he has _had_ the time, and he’s wasted it all on doing nothing. Zilch. Nada. And it’s not like any kind of spark of creativity has ignited within him, which is quite frankly ridiculous, because _he’s Creativity_!

And then, that just comes back to the thing about being half of a whole of a part of Thomas. He’s not even the entirety of creativity. His quite literal other half is working overtime, as if _he_ got all of the inspiration instead. It’s just a whole lot of bad creativity. Bad Creativity. Got to remember those capital letters.

Here is how conversations between Thomas and Creativity _should_ go:

_“Thomas, I have been working very hard on this idea for a video. It needs some help from Logan to sort out all of the kinks, and it’s best to have Virgil give it a quick run-through to make sure that I haven’t said anything that could be misconstrued, but it’s very original, and I believe that it would be fun!”_

_“Wow, Roman! Thank you so much for this! I love you, and so does everyone else, and you’re amazing, and you make me feel like a worthwhile human being!”_

There. It’s very simple. Everyone’s needs are met. Everyone is happy.

And here is how conversations between Thomas and Creativity _actually_ go:

_“You’re boiling the kettle.”_

_“Yes, I am. I’m going to make a cup of tea.”_

_“Pour it over your arm.”_

_“What?”_

_“Pour the boiling hot kettle water over your arm.”_

_“Remus, what the fuck?”_

It’s not useful or productive. It just makes everyone feel bad!

It doesn’t matter, though. Remus can be shut up with a quick dismissal sometimes, and, when he can’t, it’s not like Remus actually wants to act on those thoughts, either. Even with his current mania, there’s still no real desire to act on every slight urge to pass through Thomas’s mind.

The thing about being half of a whole of a part of a person is this: Roman is finding it very difficult to continue to exist.

Oh. That _is_ the crux of the matter, isn’t it?

* * *

Missing Patton is like missing a limb.

That metaphor is shit. First, it’s intended for actual people, and not just anthropomorphic personifications of the different traits and schemas that make up the person that Thomas is. Shoutout to Logan for the word schema; that solved a pretty big identity crisis at one point.

Continuing to regard that metaphor, it still sucks. The aforementioned first reason means that it sucks because it’s intended for separate human people, and not the same person. It would make more sense if it was intended for Thomas and the Sides, because they are parts of the person, like how Thomas’s limbs are a part of his body.

It’s not like they’re independent beings. Logan had said that they can only really interact with objects in the Mindscape or Thomas’s house, and claims that the most likely reason why they can interact with the real world on such a level is that Thomas basically lives in his own head, anyway. He then started to complain about how it didn’t make sense, but now Roman can feel the threads of the bedsheets under his own fingers, and not just the ghost of an imagined memory that is, nevertheless, pretty vivid, because Thomas’s favourite place to be in his house is, in fact, the bed.

Still, it’s not like Roman can feel much, most of the time. Even as he thinks of how real the sheets feel against his skin, the very thought of reality begins to fade again.

Back to his original point. Missing people like limbs. To regard an actual individual as a part of oneself, and not a person in their own right, seems pretty dehumanising, if Roman does say so himself. And he does. So there.

But the limb thing, in regards to Patton, makes one thing clear. Treating each Side as a limb of Thomas’s makes sense, in a metaphorical, Voltron way. Like, Roman would be the Red Lion, and Virgil and Logan would be the legs, or maybe Logan would be the green one. But that’s not the point that he’s trying to get to.

They’re all limbs of Thomas’s. They’re all useful for tasks. Roman is the schema for performing, along with Deceit. Thomas is the head.

Patton wasn’t really Morality, not at his core. Roman supposes that it was easier to just put the whole _doing good feels nice_ thing with the actual feelings, because that was what made Patton _Patton_. He is – _was_, just for now, _was_ – _feelings_.

And now he’s gone.

And – Roman starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking with each loud inhalation and exhalation. The springs of the mattress squeak beneath him. Is Thomas awake to feel this? Did he ever fall asleep? What was it? The thing that Virgil always says, what was it? Breathe in for four and out for eight? Who cares! It’s just.

So.

…Funny?

It’s like their collective chest has been torn open. Remus must have a lot more influence than Roman considered, because he can imagine the viscera of a torn-open ribcage; the way that the whole torso would bleed. No stomach, no lungs, no heart. Just an empty cavity.

“Empty,” says Roman.

Somewhere, something moves.

* * *

Thomas has walked himself to the kitchen. _Wow_.

He’s not terrible enthusiastic over it, because he’s dragging his socked feet pretty heavily, but it’s something he’s done by himself, so… _Ethan_… Ethan will be pretty happy, right? Oh, and Logan! Thomas is doing a thing of his own accord, and it’s looking after himself, so that’s good!

“What’re you gonna eat?” Remus asks, sauntering after his centre. “Curry? Soup? Curried soup? Your friends have made a lot of food for you.”

Oh, and there’s Virgil, sitting on the counter waiting for them both!

“You should eat more,” he says, in that lovely, dark, mean, mumble that he still enunciates like a true theatre kid! “It’ll go off, and then you’ll have wasted their time and their effort. Microwave the curry first. The meat has more protein, and it’s more likely to go bad.”

Thomas opens the freezer, and pulls out two tupperware boxes of curry. He takes the lid off of one and shoves it in the microwave, punching in about ten minutes and setting it off with a few quick beeps.

Remus might have either swallowed a chainsaw, or maybe Thomas is just really hungry, because there’s a rumbling noise, and then the feeling of Remus’s gut vibrating. Did he shove something too far up his ass in a desperate attempt to feel something?

“Woah. I didn’t realise how hungry I’ve been,” mutters Thomas.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Virgil replies. Remus is about to add his own thoughts, whatever they may be, when Virgil continues, “Can I, like, have something? Just to tide me over.”

Thomas nods, saying, “Sure,” and gets something from the cabinet. He passes one of those big resealable bags of Oreos to Remus, as well, which is, well, pretty fucking great!

“Hey, are you supposed to twist, lick, and dunk them?” he asks. “Like, would I be Satan if I just bit into one?”

“I already bite into them,” replies Thomas, dipping his hand into Virgil’s bag of granola. He fills his mouth and makes a mildly inappropriate noise as he chews.

Remus just sticks three in his mouth, at the same time, just so he can spray crumbs as he says, “Guess I’m Satan!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” groans Virgil.

“Nope!”

Wait. The Oreos are… Really good. Like. He needs _more_. _Now_. Just grabbing them, breaking them accidentally in his fists, so that cream and crumbs smear between his fingers and settle in the creases of skin. They go into his mouth, fistful by fistful, for a few cursory chews before they drag down his tongue and to his throat, where they stick and need to be swallowed, again and again, like reverse constipation, and Remus swallows and swallows and-

His fingers meet crumbs and plastic, so he licks his hands to cleanliness.

There’s a beep, and he looks up to see Thomas scramble to the microwave with a spoon in his hand. He pulls out the curry, while Virgil sticks the second one in and sets it off to go. Then, Thomas begins to pile chunks of meat into his mouth, chewing with as much care as Remus did with the Oreos.

And, you know what? Fuck cutlery. Remus stands up, joins Thomas at the counter, and just sticks his hand in the tupperware.

Some of it is too hot, while some of it is lukewarm, but it tastes like spice and meat and it drips over his fingers like candlewax that doesn’t dry, or incredibly runny diarrhoea.

Then Virgil’s taking the tub and licking up the remaining curry sauce, and tipping it into his throat like he could drown himself in it, while Thomas tears open a half-finished bag of bread and sticks half a slice into his mouth.

Remus can do better. He fits two slices in his mouth, even though chewing it is more of a chore.

Then the microwave beeps again, like a school bell.

Virgil’s face falls, like he’s just been told that the whole _being accepted_ thing was just a long-haul prank, but Remus doesn’t want to stop. There’s a wall of noise in the sound of chewing and swallowing and not even thinking about it, and it’s drowning out everything. All of the thoughts of taking the kitchen knives and slashing up their wrists and thighs and tendons, all of that gets drowned out.

He can’t let it be quiet enough to hear them again.

This time, the curry is worse. It’s still cold in some places, and Remus is pretty sure that he crunched on some ice as he chews the meat. The sauce goes into Thomas’s mouth, and all around his cheeks, because Remus can’t really hold him still and angle the tupperware properly, and-

“Thomas?”

“Remus, stop that right now!”

Oh! Logan! Ethan?

“Thomas wanted to eat!” grins Remus.

* * *

Roman has decided that he prefers the bed to the tiled bathroom floor, not only because it’s incredibly cramped in here.

Virgil’s sitting in the bath, head buried in his knees, while Deceit fusses over Thomas, playing with his hair and rubbing his shoulders as their centre kneels over the toilet, shoving his fingers down his throat in sheer desperation.

“He’s chickening out too quickly,” Remus tells Roman, almost drowned out by the sound of Logan’s lecture. “He feels his fingers hit the back of his throat and he’s too scared to let himself puke.”

Roman nods, even as Logan’s lecture grows louder.

“What on earth were you thinking, Thomas? That was not a balanced meal! That was… That was a binge!”

And, even though Roman doesn’t really have a clear view of anyone from here, he can guess that Thomas has lifted his head and removed his fingers from his mouth, just to fix Logan with one of the sassy looks he makes when he’s playing Sleep.

“Stay calm, Logan,” murmurs Deceit. “Thomas has overeaten due to stress before. Things will be alright.”

“Not to _this extent_, Dece-!” Logan’s voice shifts from a shriek to a sigh. “Ethan.”

Roman’s belly feels as if it aches in sympathy, while Remus pokes his own food baby.

“I’m going to give birth by shitting,” says Remus.

After a blink, Roman connects the thoughts in his mind, and responds with a perfunctory, “That’s disgusting.”

When Remus grins, Roman can see the crumbs stuck between his teeth.

“I know,” he says, with deceptive lightheartedness, “but it’s something.”

And, _oh_. The heavy feeling in his stomach is weighing him down. He isn’t floating on a bed of sheets, in a half-baked memory of a fantasy where Patton hides his hands in sleeves designed to look like cat paws, and where they’re smiling and laughing.

Roman tries to smile now. His teeth are bared, and his cheeks pinch with the pain of underused muscles.

When Roman looks at Remus, his brother’s eyes falter, like he’s just seen a flaw in the mirror. The smiles fall from their faces simultaneously.

Remus looks away, up at Deceit, with that same, empty grin. “Oi, Ethan! Just give him a belly rub!”

Thomas lets out a whine and scrabbles to the corner nearest the bath, reaching out like Virgil will save him. His cheeks are as blotchily red as the rims of his eyes, shining with tears both old and unshed.

He’s really ugly when he cries.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Virgil snaps out, glaring at Remus. “If anyone touches anyone’s stomach, I’ll be honest, I’m going to fucking _die_ of humiliation.”

Logan adjusts his glasses, turning to face them. “Remus’s idea is logically sound, to be honest. It will aid digestion, and relax the tense abdominal muscles.”

“We don’t need to digest this!” Virgil shouts, ignoring Thomas’s whine. “We need to get it out!”

“Seppuku!” Remus adds, even more loudly. “Knife open your guts! That’ll get everything out!”

“We can’t do that! We’ll _die_!”

The world doesn’t shift for everyone in that moment. In fact, it’s just Roman who feels it, right then. The grating of plates moving, and shifting, and shaking, and settling into somewhere new. Grinding like stone gears of fate.

There’s a painting in Roman’s mind. It’s not his own idea. It’s this one by Caspar David Friedrich, where there’s a man standing on a huge rock or something, overlooking other huge rocks, but they’re all swallowed up by mist. From the perspective, the artist has made it look like the man is overlooking the scene, as proud and as unmoving as a king, while that one rock, from another angle, might look like any of the others in the scene.

Once, Remus pointed out that the man looked like he was about to jump. Roman was narrow-minded back then, and dismissed his brother’s thoughts without, well, a thought! He’d identified himself in that man, with his view of a beautiful, unknown world.

He still identifies with that man, and his windswept hair, and his endless gazing into the grey abyss. The abyss cries out, now, to just take a step further. To just reach a little farther.

To just fall a little bit more.

He is Roman. He is Thomas’s creativity, and sense of self, and motivation. He is hotheadedness, and firey desire. He is the stuff that dreams are made of and on. He’s ego; egotism and egoism.

And, without the oxygen it needs, that fire has died out.


End file.
